


Deviant Behavior

by Cassiopeia_Kass



Category: Andromeda (TV)
Genre: A lot of sex, Angry frustrated Harper, Dylan is still thinking of military regulations, M/M, Misunderstandings, Season 1, some after-sex awkwardness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-07-26
Updated: 2001-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:09:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23962117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassiopeia_Kass/pseuds/Cassiopeia_Kass
Summary: When Harper starts to behave strangely, Dylan reciprocates.
Relationships: Seamus Harper/Dylan Hunt
Kudos: 7





	Deviant Behavior

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimers: They aren’t mine, but if they were, I’d let them have more fun. All things _Gene Roddenberry’s Andromeda_ actually belong to Gene Roddenberry’s estate, Majel Roddenberry, and Tribune Entertainment Company.
> 
> (This is [Viridian5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viridian5) posting for Cassiopeia, a friend of mine who's long gone out of fandom but left me as a kind of caretaker of her _Andromeda_ fics. They've been linked at my personal site for a very long time but I wanted to share them with the fandom more.)

Harper, Dylan thought, looking across a room full of semi-dignitaries, was in a bad mood. Whether it was the suit or the tie--currently worn as appropriate--or the forced attendance at an affair that included Nietzscheans, Dylan wasn’t sure, but Harper was definitely not happy.

"Harper’s building up to a slow boil," Beka murmured as she circulated past him.

He nodded agreement, starting to move slowly in Harper’s direction.

Harper’s expression, of course, was uninformative. It was more the fact that Harper was standing still, listening politely to a group of Perseids. Particularly the standing still part.

Harper still was... alarming.

Even if he’d never really seen Harper explode.

He edged up to the Perseids, smiled winningly. "May I borrow my engineer for a moment?"

"Of course, Captain." Polite bows all around.

The only reassuring thing was that Harper’s eyes were slightly glazed. He drew Harper aside with him, reckoned on what might help, and guided them both toward the doors that led to the outdoor balcony.

"What?" Harper’s tone was edgy. "What did I do?"

"Nothing." Dylan looked sidelong at him. "Guilty conscience?"

Harper only looked at him. Expressionlessly.

"I’m kidding," Dylan added hastily. "I just thought you looked like you could use a breath of fresh air."

That only got him another look. Still expressionless. He allowed himself a moment to notice that, opened the door, and ushered Harper through it.

Harper walked sedately to the balustrade and looked down. "Nice place."

There was definitely something wrong. Dylan leaned against the balustrade next to Harper, looked down the face of the building. "A little high." He waited for Harper to tell him that a pebble dropped would probably kill whoever it landed on, or something equally twisted, but Harper was silent. Still.

Maybe it was the tie. Reaching out, he snagged a finger into the knot and loosened it. Harper jerked away, startled. "What’re you doing?"

"Taking the tie off. You look unnatural in it."

Harper stared at him. "Rommie practically threatened my life if I didn’t wear it."

Hmmmm. Dylan tugged the knot free and tugged one end of the tie until the silky fabric slipped away from Harper’s collar. "Fortunately, I can countermand that. I’m still the captain." 

Harper rolled his shoulders a little. "Just remember that. How much have you had to drink?"

Dylan arched an eyebrow. "Not very much, why?"

Harper shook his head. "Never mind." 

Dylan sighed and looked out over the megapolis of Sr’a. Maybe it wasn’t the tie. Maybe it was the suit. "You look very nice, by the way."

"You don’t." Harper glanced at him. "Who designed the formal uniform? The same person who ran the Imperial bordello?"

Ouch. That stung. "What’s wrong with it?" He couldn’t help sounding a little annoyed.

"It’s cheesy. That red jacket and your usual pants look more.... I dunno, official." Harper looked at the tie, still in Dylan’s hand, shook his head again.

Dylan looked down at himself, sighed inwardly. He favored the red himself, but old habits died hard. He supposed as the only High Guard officer left in the universe, he could just as easily declare _that_ formal uniform and stuff this in the disposer. "Harper, I know you don’t get any particular thrill out of these things, but is there any reason that you’re unhappier than usual tonight?"

Harper twitched.

It was almost reassuring. Almost.

Until Harper shook his head. "I’m good. I don’t know what you’re talking about." 

"Did Rommie slip you a tranquilizer?" Dylan arched an eyebrow. "One of the few pleasures I get from these things is watching you converse with the Perseids. Tonight--let’s put it this way, if you were blue, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you from any of them. Worse, some of them were more animated than you were."

Harper laughed, but it was humorless. "Guy can’t win with you, can he?"

That stung, too. "What?"

Harper only shook his head again. "Nothing. Forget it."

He didn’t want to forget it. But pursuing it at this point was probably not a good idea. "What do you suppose would happen if I dropped this tie over the side?"

Harper looked at him, frowned. "Are you sure you’re not drunk?"

"Totally certain of it." Dylan arched an eyebrow. "Well?"

Harper sighed, put his hands in his pockets--which was an improvement, to Dylan’s view--and considered. "Air currents, light fabric--probably get blown back against the building and snag on something."

"That seems harmless enough."

"Unless it hits an air intake." Harper looked down again. "Which could cause some problems. Like overheating of the intake valves. Fire. You know."

"Hmmm. Better not drop it."

Harper shrugged. "The odds are in your favor, but probably not."

As annoying as Harper could be at times, this Harper was decidedly unnerving. And troubling. "Harper, you’ve made your appearance, I can make an excuse, and you can go back to the ship."

Harper looked at him. "Why?"

Why, indeed? "It’s getting late, and I expect we’ll all be saying good night shortly. You certainly aren’t enjoying yourself, and despite the fact that I think it’s necessary for us all to attend, I don’t really want to inflict torture on you."

Harper was silent for a moment. "Okay. I’ll go."

It was hard to say who was more confused at the moment. Dylan studied Harper, decided that _he_ had to take that prize. "I’ll see you on board, then."

Harper took the tie back. "I’ll take this. I don’t want Rommie spacing me until she gets the word from you."

It should have been a joke. But Harper’s tone wasn’t--Harper. 

More disturbed, Dylan followed Harper back in, sent him on his way and sought out Beka.

"Do you have any idea what’s wrong with him?"

Beka raised both eyebrows. "Aside from being Harper?"

Dylan frowned. They both made comments like that, and he now found himself wondering if they made them far too often. "You sat closer to him during dinner, how was he then?"

Beka’s frown mirrored his. "Polite. Well-behaved. Quiet--you’re right, there’s something wrong. I’d better talk to him."

Dylan opened his mouth to protest, closed it again. This was what he had a first officer for, he told himself, and despite the small number of people on the crew, he could delegate as needed. He didn’t _have_ to be in control of everything. Did he? "Let me know."

Beka nodded, her gaze distant. "Yeah, I will."

Which meant she might, depending on whether or not she felt comfortable telling him.

Maybe he did need to be in control of everything. He’d find Harper tomorrow and find out for himself.

  


* * *

Maybe it was just that they’d had too many of these official things, all Harper knew was that he was exhausted trying to meet Beka’s and Rommie’s and Dylan’s expectations at the stupid things. 

He hated the seventy million types of flatware used by every different culture, hated trying to figure them all out without looking stupid, hated making small talk with boring bureaucrats, hated the fucking tie, and hated the fucking suit.

Well, the suit wasn’t all that bad, it just felt like it was too snug in the wrong places and too loose in the wrong places, and of course, he couldn’t go armed, even if it didn’t screw with the way the jacket hung.

But somehow, he wasn’t surprised when Beka came after him in the morning.

"What’s up with you?" she asked him bluntly. "What’s bugging you?"

"People who bother me when I’m working." He pushed his goggles up and scowled at her. "That’s what bugs me."

"I mean, last night. Even Dylan noticed, and Dylan seldom notices these little interpersonal nuances." Beka held out a mug of coffee.

Okay, he could decompress for that. Taking the mug, he sipped at it. "I just hate those shindigs. Stuffed shirts, fake smiles, and god, Nietzscheans last night."

"Well, none of us likes them. I don’t even think _Dylan_ likes them." Beka sighed, put her hands on her hips. "I mean, a billion boring toasts, and foods I don’t think I want to ever eat again."

Suddenly, he felt better. "Yeah, and all that damn silverware and china and fingerbowls."

Beka snickered. "Especially the fingerbowls."

"It sucks."

"Yeah, I know." Beka looked easier. "So that was it? Nothing else on your mind?"

He frowned again. "Dylan send you to find out?"

Beka blinked. "No, but he was worried, too. I mean, he said you weren’t acting yourself, so I said I’d find out what was wrong."

It was idiotic, but that hurt. "Yeah, well, you can tell him I’m fine." He tried not to sound short, took a sip of coffee. Good coffee. Really good coffee. He’d just focus on that instead. 

Beka’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Harper, you okay?"

"I’m good," he said promptly. He was acting like a kid, that was all, needing approval, and he should damned well be past that. He was _good_ at what he did, never mind he apparently annoyed everyone but Trance, who was apparently annoyance-proof. Well, and Rev, but that was Rev and Wayism. Two out of six wasn’t bad, not really. "Now, if you’ll let me get back to work."

Her eyes were still narrowed. "Sure. Okay. But if you feel like you want to talk about anything, you know where to find me."

He nodded, put the mug on his worktable and put his goggles back down. "Thanks." 

She stayed a moment longer, but left without saying anything else.

Thank whatever.

  


* * *

"There _is_ something wrong," Beka told Dylan, frowning. "But I can’t tell what."

Dylan looked over at her. "What did he say?"

"That he was fine, he just hated all the frills and fuss of those political things." Beka’s frown didn’t ease. "But I don’t think that was all."

Dylan frowned back. If Harper wouldn’t tell Beka-- "Let me give it a try."

Beka’s frown eased then, it eased right into an incredulous look. "Good luck." Meaningfully.

"You don’t think he’ll talk to me." He rose from the pilot’s chair. "Is that it?"

Beka widened her eyes. "Did I say that? I didn’t hear me say that."

He sighed. "You didn’t have to. But I think I’ll give it a try anyway."

She nodded, but kept her mouth shut. Blessedly.

He found Harper precisely where Beka had left him, in the machine shop. Welding something.

Harper gave him a long look, turned the welder off, and pushed up his goggles. "Something I can do for you?" 

Yes? No? "I just came down to talk," Dylan said cheerfully. His cheer was lost on Harper, whose expression had gone wary. "To continue our conversation from last night."

Harper took the goggles off. "Didn’t Beka talk to you?" Irritable. "I thought you sent her down here to talk to me."

"Yeah, she did." That was embarrassing, that Beka had indicated it was _his_ concern. "We were both a little concerned last night."

"I’ll tell you what I told her," Harper said truculently, "I’m good, I’m fine, I’m practically dancing in the corridors. Okay? We done now?"

Annoyed, Dylan shook his head. "Not even close. You said something last night, you said, and I quote ‘a guy can’t win with you’. I want to know what that means."

Harper scowled, tossed his goggles at the worktable. "It means just what it sounds like, Dylan. I can’t win with you. If I act the way you tell me to act at these things, you get your underwear in a knot. If I act like myself, you get it double-knotted."

Dumbfounded, Dylan stared at him. "What the _hell_ are you talking about? Have I ever said _anything_ to you about the way you behave?"

Dark look. "You don’t have to. You have Beka or Rommie do it."

Dylan’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. "I have never asked either of them to speak to you about your behavior. I don’t even remember you behaving badly at any of ‘these things.’" He was thoroughly out of temper now, folded his arms. By contrast, Harper was now looking uncertain. "And if I did, I’d say it to you myself."

Harper looked away. "Okay, sorry." Embarrassed.

Which was fine. "We’re done now," Dylan snarled and left, stalking down the corridors. First, he was going to talk to Rommie. Then he was going to talk to Beka.

And then... well, he didn’t know what to do after that, and there might very well be nothing. 

It took deftness to handle a small crew, more deftness than a larger crew; he was starting to think he lacked that deftness.

Although Beka apparently wasn’t doing too well either.

He wasn’t sure why that should make him feel a little better, but it did. He wasn’t sure why it irked him so that Harper had somehow been laboring under the delusion that Dylan had problems with his behavior at official functions. 

Or why it stung.

  


* * *

Harper was alone in one of his favorite hiding places, one of Andromeda’s access tubes, not doing anything in particular but brooding when he heard the nearest hatch open. He thought about bolting down to the other hatch, but lacked the energy.

It was either Beka or Trance, he suspected, but it was Dylan’s head that poked through out of the shadows down at the far end of the tube. "I’ve been looking for you," Dylan said and climbed down.

Great. Fantastic. Like he wasn’t embarrassed enough already. "What for?" But Dylan wasn’t in uniform, so maybe it wasn’t an official conversation. Maybe.

In answer, Dylan handed him a chilled bottle. He goggled at it. Antarean stout, practically the best in the universe, bar none. "Where did you get this?"

"I picked some up two ports ago." Faint smile and Dylan held up his own. "I figured we both deserved one."

For what, Harper wanted to ask, but managed to hold back. He’d already let his mouth run too much earlier in the day. "Thanks." Awkwardly.

Dylan sat next to him, leaned against the wall of the tube. "I talked to Beka and to Rommie. Evidently, they’ve given you the impression that I’ve been behind some of their suggestions as to your behavior." Dry tone. "I’m afraid they somehow got the impression that using my name in vain made their suggestions more forceful."

Harper looked fixedly at the bottle. Well, duh, he thought and twisted off the cap. "I figured that part out."

"Mmm." Dylan glanced at him, took a swallow of stout. "Apparently, Beka was merely trying to prevent friction." Dryly. "Since she believes I’m... I think the phrase she used was a tight ass."

Harper laughed in spite of himself. Took a quick swallow to try and cover it.

Dylan’s smile was rueful. "I’d be the first to admit that I’m... by the book about a lot of things. I just didn’t realize she thought I was insane. Besides, I’ve noticed that despite your insubordinate tendencies, your manners are generally good. Although referring to the Than pilot as bug girl that time was probably not in good taste."

Harper flushed. "Yeah, I guess not. I just never met a Than before."

"So are we clear on that, at least?" Dylan’s expression was peculiar.

"Yeah, I got it." He took another swallow. 

"Harper," Dylan began, "This isn’t an order, but if you’d tell me what’s bothering you, I might be able to, ah, clarify or fix whatever it is."

Harper shrugged. "There isn’t anything to fix."

"Because if I’ve given you the impression that I don’t think you do your job and do it well, I need to clear that up." Dylan’s tone was grave. "Because I do. In fact, I think you’re the only reason the Maru still runs, frankly. No disrespect intended to Beka, of course."

He was obscurely touched by that, felt his face get a little hot. "Thanks." Awkwardly.

Dylan nodded. "You and Beka are like family members, you know. She may, ah, make comments sometimes that sting, but you know if I made those same comments, she’d probably make a really good try at separating me from certain body parts."

Harper blinked. "You see a lot more than you let on." Grudgingly.

"I hope so. That’s part of my job." One corner of Dylan’s mouth lifted slightly. "And Rommie... well, Rommie’s concern is to keep the ship running but I admit, sometimes her personality can be a bit starchy. Worse than me, even." Another twitch at that corner of Dylan’s mouth.

Harper shrugged, looked down at his hands. "Yeah, Rommie’s okay. I don’t take that to heart."

"Good." Both corners of Dylan’s mouth lifted this time. "Because when I get out of temper and forget you all aren’t High Guard, she keeps reminding me of that, and that you have good hearts."

He had to admit that made him feel better. "I’m good, Dylan."

Dylan nodded. "And if it makes you feel any better, I hate trying to figure out which piece of flatware to use at these things. I mean, I have enough experience to have a general idea, but I’ll tell you how I manage, I just wait for the, ah, hosting dignitary to start eating and then follow his lead."

Harper couldn’t help laughing at that, either. "Pull the other one."

Solemn look. "Serious, I swear. Remember that oddly pronged--well, fork, on Celesti?"

Harper grimaced. "For those disgusting shelled things?"

Dylan grimaced back, rolled his eyes. "They were tolerable in that red paste."

"They were disgusting." Harper shuddered, remembering. "Sort of too chewy and too slippery and too, gah, something else I don’t even want to think about."

Dylan grinned outright. "The red paste killed that."

"I was afraid of that stuff. It looked too much like the epoxy I’ve used to work on the Maru."

Another grin.

They sat in companionable silence for several minutes. 

Dylan took another drink of his stout. "So, did I help or did I just make things worse?"

Well, hell, he couldn’t keep brooding after the mental image of Dylan manfully dousing that _thing_ in red paste and choking it down. "You helped." A little reluctantly. It was his experience that when you let people see your hot buttons, they couldn’t resist the urge to push them.

"Good. You can return the favor the next time Beka chews me out." Another outright grin.

His problems had either decreased or increased by one. He liked Dylan, but feeling warm and fuzzy about Dylan hadn’t been on his agenda.

But looking at that grin, it was hard to remember that.

It was really hard to remember that. In casual clothes, Dylan was less... upright, more approachable. 

Downright attractive, in fact, and whoa, that was not the place to be going, just because Dylan was approachable and dammit, being nice to him.

Dylan didn’t seem disposed to leave, either. 

"What do _you_ do for fun," Harper asked. "I mean, aside from playing mortal combat basketball with Tyr."

Dylan laughed softly. "Probably nothing you’d find too exciting. Books, vids--holo or otherwise--music, basketball--I used to have a wider repertoire, but that was before being trapped by a singularity."

"Vids. I like vids." Harper considered. "Surfing, when I can do it. Books, I like books a lot, when I have time, and music, hell yes. Depends on what you consider exciting, I guess. Rock climbing sometimes, if I’m planetside."

"Now that I believe." Dylan stretched one leg out. "I’ll bet you’re good at that, actually, the way you fling yourself around the ship." 

"I don’t fling myself," Harper protested, "I’m just active, you know, keeping the machine tuned."

"Oh, yeah." Crooked smile and Dylan drank again, emptied the bottle. "Damn, that’s good. You want another?"

Harper goggled again. "You brought more?"

Dylan laughed. "No, we’ll have to go get them. Officers’ mess."

Harper lifted his own bottle, drank the rest. "Okay. Why not. My schedule’s clear."

Another genuine grin. "Oddly, so is mine. Come on."

Nobody had to twist his arm. He followed Dylan out, bemused.

  


* * *

Somehow, after the second stout, they’d ended up in Harper’s quarters while Harper flipped through photos and holos, showing Dylan surfers and waves, and sheer rock faces.

"I wanna climb that," Harper said, tapping one particularly intimidating view. "Kthazri."

Dylan eyed him. "You don’t get enough excitement here on Andromeda?"

Harper grinned, completely unselfconscious, no hint of the usual Harper cockiness. "Yeah, I know. But it’s not as bad as it looks in this shot. Good handholds. But it takes some special equipment, it’s so damn high, you have to be able to carry stuff up and sleep in a sling hammock halfway up."

Dylan shuddered. "Just hanging out there in the wind against the rock."

"Yeah." Harper looked down at the picture and his expression went... wistful. "I mean, I always said if I survived to get off Earth, I was going to do everything I ever dreamed about. So this is on my list."

It was a depressing reminder of what Dylan didn’t know and probably didn’t want to know about Earth. "You don’t talk about that much." Quietly.

Harper gave him a startled look. "Nothing to talk about. At least nothing I _want_ to talk about." 

Dylan nodded. "Okay. Then I won’t ask."

Harper stared at him. The vulnerability beneath the cockiness was... heartbreaking. "Believe me, Dylan, it’s nothing you want to hear."

"If you could live it, I can hear it," Dylan said softly. "Drink your stout."

Brief flicker of a grin. "Yeah, it’s getting warm." Harper lifted the bottle to his lips, tilted his head back slightly.

Watching the line of Harper’s throat, Dylan was suddenly dry-mouthed, totally aroused in a way he hadn’t experienced since his reckless twenties and early thirties. Since before Sara. Since before his life had been totally stripped away, leaving him adrift in this time and place.

Harper put the bottle down, licked his lips. "What?" 

Dylan swallowed hard, shifted in the chair. "It’s getting late, Harper, I’d better go."

Harper’s smile faded. "Oh. Okay."

That vulnerability again, plus confusion and maybe just a touch of hurt. "It’s not because you don’t feel like talking."

Harper nodded, started gathering his photos up. Finally looked at Dylan. "What is it, then? It’s not that late."

The honesty of the question made it impossible not to return that same honesty. "If I don’t, I’m going to do something we may both regret."

Harper stilled suddenly. Wide eyes, filled with confusion. "Why?"

"Why what?" He was focused on those eyes, on that mouth. Simple question, one word, and there was honesty there, too, honesty and courage. He just had no idea what Harper was asking. Why did he want to do something they might both regret? Why was he leaving? 

"Why would you regret it? Because I’m not High Guard?" 

Appalled, Dylan shook his head. "God, Harper, no. It’s just--we’ve both had a few drinks, and we’re a small crew, and the complications--" He ran out of words, looking into those eyes, added lamely. "And I’m the captain."

Harper nodded slowly. "You think I’d take advantage of that."

Worse and worse. "No!" Rather more forcefully than he’d intended. Harper was no more insubordinate to him than he was to Beka, it was just Harper’s way, and when had he gotten so used to it that it only bothered him when his temper was sour? 

Harper looked more confused, more vulnerable. More hurt. "Okay." A shrug, and Harper turned away from him. "I get it."

"You get what?"

"You don’t want to want me." Arched eyebrow, and that mask was back. "I get it."

There was partial truth there. He said so. "It’s inconvenient to say the least."

Crooked grin. "That’s me all right. Hey, no problem. Thanks for the stout."

Behind the grin, Harper’s eyes were... Dylan wasn’t sure, but it wasn’t exactly happy acceptance. It was suddenly insupportable, that he should have caused Harper more damage as a result of undoing damage. "Harper," he said and put down the nearly empty bottle of stout, leaned forward and hooked his fingers gently behind Harper’s neck. "You _aren’t_ inconvenient, I am." 

Harper stared at him, and Dylan could see the pulse at the base of Harper’s throat. "Say what?"

The hell with it. Harper’s lips were warm and tasted slightly of stout; the inside of Harper’s mouth was more so on both counts, and just for a while, he lost himself in that. Just for a while, and then a cold, sane voice in the back of his head reminded him that he’d just plied a subordinate with drink and what the _hell_ did he think he was doing?

He pulled back as far as the hands fisted in his shirt would allow. "Harper," he said hoarsely, "Tell me to get out."

Harper licked his lips again. "What if I don’t want you to get out?"

The voice in his head didn’t shut up, but he leaned in again, and it was reduced to asking him if he really had his tongue in his engineer’s mouth, if he really had one hand down the back of Harper’s pants and the other in Harper’s hair.

Guilty on both counts, he told it and drew back again, determined to give Harper an out--if Harper wanted one. "Harper, are you drunk?"

Bewildered, glazed look. "I’m a little buzzed, but I’m not drunk."

"Thank God." 

Harper looked only slightly reassured. "Um, do you want to go?"

"Only if you want me to." 

Harper’s answer was to climb into his lap. This was both good and bad; it made it harder to rid themselves of the obstacles of clothing, and Dylan finally gave up, tipped them both to the floor, and banged his elbow.

Harper yelped in surprise, blinked, and grinned. "I have a bed."

"There is that," Dylan agreed.

Harper rolled to his feet, held out a hand and Dylan took it, hauled himself to his feet, and backed Harper up to the edge of the bed while sucking on his tongue.

He wasn’t sure afterward just how they managed to get rid of the clothes, but he rather suspected those clever and deft engineer’s hands had done more than he’d managed. He was too intent on licking and nipping and sucking on the bits of newly exposed skin as Harper squirmed out of his shirt and pants.

Of course, the only time Harper was quiet was when he was unhappy, so Harper’s nonstop stream of consciousness commentary contributed decidedly to his continued exploration of Harper’s body. Smooth skin, marked here and there by scars gone pale with age, too many scars, and he was _not_ going to think about that, not going to brood about it. 

Dylan was tormenting one of Harper’s nipples with his tongue when Harper’s hands tightened in his hair rather ungently.

"What?" He stroked a hand down Harper’s belly, mildly annoyed at being interrupted.

"Are you always this pushy in bed?" Harper was almost panting. "I mean, jeez, you could at least let me get a look at you."

He blinked stupidly, found himself on his back and that wasn’t bad, not at all, Harper’s body on top of his, cock rubbing against his, and god, Harper’s ass felt very nice under his hands. Harper pressed his hips down hard, leaned up on his hands and looked down. "Jeez, you look even bigger naked."

Dylan blinked again, felt compelled to apologize. "It’s not my fault, blame my mother."

Harper blinked back, grinned. "Okay." He leaned down and licked the hollow of Dylan’s throat, worked his way across Dylan’s collarbone and then down.

Dylan found he rather missed the commentary, despite the fact that what Harper was doing felt... incredible. Even the floppy bit of hair that tended to fall over Harper’s forehead felt good, especially rubbing against his nipples. Harper’s tongue rimmed his navel; he arched his hips and felt the brush of beard stubble--not entirely pleasant, but weirdly erotic at this point--against his cock. God, where was his self-discipline, where was his ability to make decisions? It had definitely been too damn long, he was going to simply explode as if he was a hair-triggered adolescent and that simply would not do.

He dragged Harper back up his body by grabbing the feathery hair--only slightly stiffened by gel--on the top of Harper’s head.

"What, what?" Harper sounded confused. "I know it’s been a while, but was I doing something wrong?"

"Hell, no." He licked and sucked at Harper’s throat, ran his tongue around the flesh that surrounded the port. Harper shuddered, bucked down against him. He made a mental note of that, worked his way back up to Harper’s mouth, and mapped it, each ridge, each tooth, and that lovely, lovely tongue.

Harper put both hands into Dylan’s hair, rocked down, licking the inside of Dylan’s mouth and possibly, just possibly, saying something into Dylan’s mouth when he could. That was good, too, that little weird vibration, and he cupped Harper’s ass, pushed up against him. Maybe it wasn’t fancy, and it sure as hell wasn’t showing off any skills he possessed, but damn, it felt good, it felt too good to worry about it. 

Shift and rock and slide, and Harper lifted his head, tilted it back. His expression was ecstatic. "Yeahyeahyeah, oh, fuck, that’s so good, Dylan, don’t stop."

Not a chance. He pulled Harper tighter against him, pushed up, slid his fingers into the cleft of Harper’s ass and apparently that was all that was needed, Harper cried out, a mantra of fucks and yeses and yeahs, and he felt hot wetness spill out between them. That was all that _he_ needed, and he cried out, he thought it might be Harper’s name, cried out and ground his hips against Harper’s.

Hot and sticky and messy, and damn, he’d forgotten how it felt to be touched, to be wanted. Forgotten what it was to touch, to want with this kind of need and heat. Harper’s kiss was languid, almost lazy, and oh, yeah, that was good; his palm against the small of Harper’s back was even better, and the almost purr Harper made as he sank back down on Dylan’s chest was the best of all.

A friendly nuzzle against his throat and Harper folded his arms, rested his chin on them. "You really are a pushy bastard in bed." No rancor, only amusement.

"I was afraid I’d embarrass myself." Every muscle in his body felt unknotted, and every time Harper took a breath, the slight shift of their bodies sent another residual spark of pleasure through his nerves. He _felt_ Harper’s grin, looked down to see it, and stroked his palm over the small of Harper’s back again. "It felt a little too good, if you know what I mean."

Another grin. "Yeah." The grin faded a little. "So did you plan all this?"

"No." He wasn’t sure if Harper would think that was good or bad. "At least I don’t think so. Not consciously."

"No?" Harper’s expression was uninformative. "So you just happened to come looking for me because...."

A little irritated, Dylan tugged at a blond spike. "Because I was concerned about how you were feeling." Then, looking more honestly at himself. "I don’t mind being the bad guy when I am, but I was more than a little angry that you’d been given the impression I had problems with your behavior." He loosened his hold on Harper’s hair, ran his fingers lightly through it. "This... it sort of snuck up on me." Ruefully.

Harper studied him. "Okay." Almost cheerfully. "I can relate to that." Almost cheerfully. Almost.

That bothered him. "Harper, do you feel like I--"

"Took advantage? Nope." Harper put his face down on Dylan’s chest. "Man, I’m wiped." A yawn, a chuff of warm breath against Dylan’s skin. "You make a good pillow." Slightly muffled.

He smiled, relieved, cupped the back of Harper’s head. "Feel free to use me, then." He could feel Harper’s mouth curve, tipped his head back into Harper’s pillows, and closed his eyes. Just for a little while, he told himself, and of course, that ensured that sleep crept up and yanked him under.

  


* * *

Dylan was gone when Harper woke up, which didn’t surprise him. Sighing, Harper sat up and looked at the chron. Blinked in surprise. Between the stout and the sex, he’d slept almost seven hours, no wonder Dylan was gone.

He needed a shower and maybe a shave, which was stupid optimism rearing its stupid head. Dylan had been drinking, too, and even if he’d known what he was doing, it didn’t necessarily follow that Dylan had. Or that Dylan wouldn’t regret it.

Dylan had regretted it before they’d started. He still wasn’t sure why Dylan had gone for it anyway.

Wasn’t sure why _he_ had.

With his luck, Dylan was horrified by the lapse in moral rectitude, or had convinced himself that he’d taken advantage of Harper and either way, that meant Dylan would avoid him.

He’d just have to act as normal as he could. Or as normal as he usually acted.

So he didn’t shave.

Stopped by the officers’ mess to grab something portable for breakfast, just as he usually did, and ducked down a side corridor when he heard footsteps ahead of him, neatly avoiding a meeting with whoever the hell it was.

With that out of the way, he found it was easier to focus on work and pretend that nothing had happened.

Yeah, right. 

It was a quiet day. He didn’t stay in the shop all day, but made his way around Andromeda on various maintenance tasks, managing to avoid almost everyone.

Almost.

Beka ran into him on his way to the core. "Hey," she said, "You’ve been pretty hard to find today."

He managed a grin. "Been busy. You need something, boss?"

Beka grinned back. "Not really, I just usually run into you more often in the course of a day." Her grin faded. "You mad at me, Harper?"

He frowned. "Why would I be--oh." Remembered what Dylan had told him. "I guess not. I just wish you hadn’t said it was Dylan. You’re usually straighter with me than that." 

Beka flushed a little. "I’m sorry, Harper. I meant well, I just wanted things to go smoothly. I didn’t mean for you to take it that way."

He shrugged, glanced away briefly. "S’okay. Live and learn." He looked back at her. "Just--if you’ve got a problem with me, Beka, I wish you’d tell me straight out."

"I’m sorry." Almost meekly. "I will. I mean, I was just trying to make sure Dylan didn’t get pissed off--I just worry, he gets anal about protocol sometimes. And so does Rommie."

Harper nodded. "Like I said, s’okay, don’t worry about it. I’m good."

She honestly looked regretful, he had to admit, but it still stung a little. He’d have to get over it. He’d have to get over a lot of things. Abruptly, Beka’s eyes widened slightly, then narrowed. "What’s that on your neck?"

His neck? "Where?" Oh, shit. Dylan. "Oh, that. I think I’m having some kind of allergic reaction to the food the other night. Gotta get to med-deck, talk to Rommie about it." Shit. He was practically babbling as he backed away. "Talk to you later, okay?"

He didn’t give her time to answer, caught hold of the nearest access ladder, and slid down.

Peered at himself in the nearest highly polished bulkhead section and couldn’t decide to laugh or curse.

Like hell he was going to med-deck. He’d just have to stay out of Beka’s way or start wearing higher collars.

Damn Dylan anyway.

But his eyes glazed as he remembered how good it had felt.

Damn Dylan anyway.

The next person to find him was Trance, who tracked him down in her own inimitable purple fashion while he was replacing valves in hydroponics. 

"Hey, Harper," she said cheerfully, "Beka said you were having an allergic reaction and that I better talk to you."

He groaned. "I just said that to Beka to get her to leave me alone, Trance."

Trance blinked. "You lied to Beka?"

"It was just... you remember me telling you about little white lies, Trance? This was one of those. She kept apologizing to me for something, and I didn’t want to hear any more." He was beginning to feel a little desperate.

"Oh." Trance nodded thoughtfully. "Why was she apologizing?"

He shrugged. "She--it’s nothing, Trance. It was just one of those things between me and Beka."

Trance nodded again. "Harper, are you really okay?"

If one more person asked him that, he was going bang his head repeatedly on the bulkhead. "I’m fine, Trance."

"Dylan was worried about you." Earnest expression.

He was trapped in a nightmare. "I know, Trance. He talked to me about it." 

She beamed at him, patted his shoulder. "Okay, well, I’ll just tell Beka I looked at you and you’re fine. If she asks."

"Thanks, Trance." His knees actually felt wobbly with relief. "Now, if you’ll let me get back to work, your misters will be as good as new."

Another big Trance smile. "Thanks, Harper."

She left him alone, blessedly, and he went back to work.

Work was good. Very good. Work alone was even better.

At last, he ended his shift with a Sparky in the access tube. Not that he was hiding, exactly; for one thing, Dylan knew where to find him, obviously.

But he didn’t want to have to tell anybody else that he was fine, he _didn’t_ want to talk to anybody. 

He _was_ fine, mostly, at least he thought so; he was just... nervous. Not thinking about Dylan all day had been good because it kept him focused, but now, off-shift, he had to think about what had happened.

Okay, maybe he hadn’t managed to avoid thinking about Dylan all day, it was a little tough with his mouth a little chafed from Dylan’s beard stubble and his nipples still sensitive from Dylan’s mouth. He drank the last of his cola and leaned back, letting himself remember that, remember the heat and hunger of Dylan’s mouth and hands and body.

God.

He’d managed his whole life not to get addicted to anything, but this... this was going to be damned hard to forget.

If that’s what Dylan wanted him to do, that is. 

He wished he knew. Dylan’s rueful honesty about whether or not he’d intended to pounce had relieved him a lot. It would have bothered him to find out that Dylan had planned things the way they turned out. He wasn’t sure why, considering, but it would have. Maybe because he’d really believed that Dylan had been concerned about him, and that was rare enough in his life that he really didn’t want it to be about getting laid. Dylan had seemed honestly confused about why and what, though, so he figured that had been honest enough.

Maybe Dylan had confused liking him with wanting him. It wouldn’t be that surprising, he supposed, given how long it had probably been since Dylan had gotten laid. That was a depressing thought, but it was better to be pessimistic than to hope, than to want some other outcome.

The sound of a hatch opening made him sigh, resigned. Didn’t matter who it was, they were going to ask him if he was okay. Which could really piss him off, at this point, so he had to brace himself against bad temper.

His heart thumped hard once when he saw it was Dylan. Not in uniform. "We gotta stop meeting like this."

Dylan gave him a wary look and sank back on his heels "Are you--"

"All right? Yeah." In spite of himself, he felt hopeful. "You?"

That got a baffled look. "Yeah, I’m fine. Where have you been all day?"

Dylan’s tone made Harper’s heart thump again. "Here and there. Catching up on stuff. You should have woken me up."

Dylan’s expression changed slightly. "Ah. Well, to tell you the truth, when you sleep, you look young enough that I felt like a pedophile." Regretful tone.

"Hey, just because I’m not three hundred years old," Harper risked.

"Three hundred and forty two, thank you." One corner of Dylan’s mouth lifted. "You’re just a kid compared to that." But he sank back against the tube wall beside Harper. "Besides, I hated to disturb you, you were sleeping very peacefully." Cautious look. "I’m sorry, though, I should have at least muttered something in your ear."

Harper shrugged, mostly to hide the fact that he felt even more hopeful. "No problem."

"So, where were you hiding out all day?" Dylan nudged him.

"I wasn’t hiding out," he told Dylan with dignity, "I was keeping busy."

"Keeping busy." Dylan nodded. "Fair enough. I don’t suppose you know anything about why Beka braced me in my quarters about how I needed to be more sensitive to your feelings?"

Harper’s jaw dropped. "What the--she’s got _some_ brass, after all this crap." A little indignant for Dylan.

Dylan didn’t look upset, though. "It _was_ pretty funny, particularly after I pointed that out to her." Mild tone. "So you didn’t talk to her about, er--"

"God, no." Heartfelt. "If you want her to know, you’re going to have to tell her yourself. But I hope you don’t." The very idea made him shudder.

Dylan grinned. "Well, I personally felt it was none of her business."

Harper nodded vehemently. "Damn straight." There was something about Dylan’s smile that made his stomach feel strange.

And then Dylan flushed a little. "So, was it, ah, a mistake? Any regrets?"

It hit Harper hard, then, that Dylan was feeling awkward and nervous, too. Whoa, Captain Terrific. "Just that you didn’t wake me up," he said reasonably. "You?"

Dylan’s flush deepened slightly. "Ah, no, I can’t think of any." Gave him that smile again. "Does that mean--" he began.

Harper’s heart thumped hard again. "Does that mean--" he began at the same time, and they both stopped.

Dylan’s smile shifted into something else. Something... whoa, smoldering hot. "Yes," he said firmly.

Harper felt faint. Pinched himself. "This is real, right? Not a gag."

"It’s as real as you want it to be." Matter of fact tone. "Harper, I can’t push what I want. I have...." Dylan sighed, rubbed his forehead. "I’ve already crossed over the line. If you _were_ High Guard, you’d be well within your rights to file a complaint against me."

Harper’s pessimism evaporated, and affection replaced it. "You’ve been thinking about _that_ all day? You didn’t push me into anything, Dylan." There was something incredibly reassuring about the fact that Dylan had his own worries and insecurities.

There was something reassuring about Dylan’s clear relief. "You’re sure."

"Dylan," Harper said happily, "Shut up."

Dylan’s mouth curved. "All right."

Harper eyed him. "Really?"

"No." Dylan grinned outright. "Are you subsisting on Sparky these days, or would you like some dinner?"

Dinner. Usually, he was lucky to get drinks. "Are you running a fever?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at Dylan.

"I don’t think so. Of course, you could check." Invitingly.

Harper considered. "I want dinner before I decide you need treatment."

"That would work," Dylan agreed. 

They smiled at each other for a minute. "So what’s for dinner?"

Dylan’s smile only got bigger. "Let’s find out."

Harper didn’t have to be asked twice.

  


* * *

Dinner was good. Harper was better. They’d argued amiably about what to put in the stir-fry, and he’d ended up bowing to Harper’s Terran expertise. It reminded of him freshly of how Harper’s magpie mind worked, collecting information where ever and whenever available, one of the things he enjoyed most about watching Harper zig and zag through his days.

The stir-fry was good, and watching Harper eat was enjoyable, neat quick bites, little hum of pleasure and nods of approval. Satisfied sigh when the serving was gone. "S’good."

Dylan smiled. "There’s a little more left."

Harper’s expression was mildly surprised. "I could eat a little more," he said and offered Dylan a smile that was almost shy. "I forgot to eat after breakfast."

It made Dylan’s heart turn over. "Help yourself." He said it casually, hoping the message came through.

Harper blinked at him, smiled shyly again. "Su casa es mi casa?"

He smiled back, took another bite.

A little awkwardness, but by the time Harper sat down again, he was talking about Sino-Malaysian recipes, no sign of self-consciousness.

Dinner over, dishes cleared away, and then he could indulge himself, nuzzling Harper’s hair and edging Harper back toward the bed. Harper put his arms around Dylan and let himself be walked backward, laughing into Dylan’s shirt the whole time.

The shirt didn’t last long, Harper had it pushed up and over Dylan’s head almost before he was all the way on the bed, so Dylan returned the favor. 

Warm skin, faintly salty from a long day, and he’d left a few marks here and there. He forced himself to be gentle, at least at first, at least until he got an aroused Harper straddling him with a hungry look. "You don’t know how to go slow, do you?" Amused.

"Oh, listen, pot meet kettle." Harper leaned down and teased Dylan’s left nipple. 

Dylan hissed in pleasure, laughed a little, and wrapped both arms around Harper. "We’re still half-dressed. Wouldn’t you like to take a minute to get rid of your pants?"

"I’ll take a minute to get rid of _your_ pants," Harper growled into Dylan’s chest.

"I’m going to get pushy again in a minute."

One last lingering lick over his nipple and Harper sat back up, flushed and delicious looking. "And you said _I_ was impatient." 

"This isn’t impatience, this is wanting to give you the very best." Dylan smirked, pushed himself up, and reached for Harper’s waistband.

"You take care of your own." Harper leaned in, though, kissed Dylan lingeringly, and yeah, Harper’s mouth was just as sweet and hot as it had been the night before.

No stout. No regrets. Dylan was conscious of an emotion he couldn’t immediately identify, finally realized, when Harper leaned over to untie his boots, that it was joy. Foolish, heady, hilarious joy, and he leaned forward, licked the spot between Harper’s shoulderblades while slipping his hand around to Harper’s belly. "You," he said and nuzzled. "Have alarmingly attractive vertebrae."

Harper leaned back against him and snickered. "Vertebrae? What about my ass?" 

"I’m still working my way down to that. Last night I was a little preoccupied with other parts." He rested his chin on Harper’s shoulder. "Fortunately, we have plenty of time."

Harper stilled, but there wasn’t any stiffening. "Plenty of time." Happily.

"Lots and lots of time," Dylan agreed, pleased by that happiness. 

"As much as we want."

Dylan nuzzled again. "After all, I haven’t managed to map all your erogenous zones yet."

A little shiver and Harper bent to his boots again. "Get naked before I hurt you."

Grinning, Dylan obeyed. "You’re a pushy bastard in bed, aren’t you."

"I need to be mapped, I don’t want to waste time once I’m naked." 

"Impatience, thy name is Harper."

"You don’t know the half of it."

Once in his arms, though, Harper seemed more willing to take some time. Did his own share of mapping until Dylan turned the tables again. He was working his way down to Harper’s cock when Harper tugged at his hair.

He nipped Harper’s navel. "What?"

"You want to fuck me?"

Dylan’s brain melted. "What?" Stupidly. Then, "God, Harper." His hands were shaking and he smoothed them down Harper’s thighs. Things kept moving faster and faster and it was like free fall, letting go of all the comforting rigidity of his days and feeling sweet freedom. "Are you sure that’s what you want?"

Harper yanked at his hair again, not gently. "Why the hell would I ask otherwise?" Almost a growl. "I’m not some dumb kid, Dylan, I know what--"

That was all Harper had time to say before Dylan’s mouth was over his. Dylan rolled them both slightly, running his hands down the line of Harper’s back to the curve of his ass. "You have a terrific ass," he told Harper huskily. "And if that’s what you want, damn right I want it."

"You’re such a Boy Scout." Harper’s voice was husky. "I like that about you."

"Good." Another hard kiss and Dylan shifted, fumbled for the cabinet next to his bed. Found what he wanted, and held it up.

Harper’s gaze went unfocused. "Now."

"Hey, give me time to do my best work," Dylan muttered and rolled Harper over on his back again. He teased Harper at first, which got another growl and a very sincere glare. Laughing softly, he licked the inside of Harper’s thigh, slid one finger inside Harper and found the spot he wanted on the first try. That had to be an omen, he thought distantly and felt himself throb at the sound Harper made. "That good?"

Harper’s fingers tightened in the blankets. "Oh, god. I didn’t know you were that good with your hands." Faintly and he arched into Dylan’s touch. "Oh, again, please." 

Dylan obliged, licked and nipped at the flat of Harper’s hip, swatted away the hand that came down to try and take over his job. "Mine," he said and nipped Harper’s fingertips.

Another whimper.

Nice and slick, but Dylan added more, added another finger, stretching carefully, stroking inward. The heat and clench of Harper’s flesh was going to drive him out of his mind long before he managed to get his cock there, he thought distantly and licked the head of Harper’s cock, sucked gently at it.

Gentle or not, Harper gasped. "Good, that’s good, oh, jeez, don’t make me wait, Dylan, do it, please, do it now."

He loved that stream of consciousness. It continued when he withdrew his fingers, a chorus of ‘no, no, no’ that swiftly shifted to yeses when he knelt between Harper’s thighs. Sweet, hot, and he had to think fixedly of fuel consumption ratios and budgets for a heartbeat to keep from simply hammering himself into Harper’s body.

Harper’s head tilted back. "Oh, god, yes, yes, don’t stop now, Dylan, god."

Harper might be begging, but it was evident this wasn’t something Harper had done for a while, and he clenched his jaw, took his time, took the time for Harper. It was worth the momentary frustration to make it good for Harper, who was practically speaking in tongues by this time, little gasps and pushes and a babble of words that could have been profane, but which sounded anything but. God, and then he was all the way in, sheathed and clasped and he could breathe again, just for a moment, but Harper, as he had noted before, was seldom still, and Harper’s body fit up against him so closely, so naturally, and he moved his hips, unable to keep still himself.

He could still exert enough control to make it slow, at least at first, and Harper’s cock, which had flagged somewhat, came to life against him, pushing against his fingers. Harper’s expression was ecstatic, effortful, and he leaned over, licking and sucking and nipping. Thank god he could multitask, he thought, lunatic hilarity, and oh, Harper was all around him, moving and shifting and ah, god, why in hell had he been afraid of this, afraid of wanting and needing again?

He wasn’t sure, but the scent and feel of Harper’s orgasm tipped him over while Harper was babbling his name; he came so hard he had to close his eyes, saw the colors of the rainbow painted against the inside of his eyelids.

He came for what seemed like forever, felt Harper still shuddering under him when he could breathe again. Sank down on his elbows above Harper and caught Harper’s mouth with his own. Harper’s arms went around him, almost cruelly tight, and he nuzzled and kissed like any damn fool schoolboy in love.

And then Harper’s arms loosened, Harper went languid on him, slow, sweet kisses. He gorged on those, stealing more when Harper would have released him.

Harper laughed into his mouth. "Can we do that again?"

"Any time you want." He nuzzled Harper’s throat, ran his tongue around the port. The burns left by the Perseid had long since healed, but he hadn’t forgotten them. No scarring, only soft skin and Harper shivered. 

"Now?"

Startled, Dylan laughed. "I’m not Nietzschean."

Harper’s eyes widened. "Can Nietzscheans--"

"Hell if I know. I’ve heard stories." Dylan smirked at him. "Don’t let that inspire you to take Tyr on. They don’t believe in non-reproductive sex."

"Like I’d even try," Harper scoffed. "Those spikes give me the creeps." He hooked a leg over one of Dylan’s. "Besides, I know a good thing when I’ve got it."

Subtext, Dylan thought, and kissed Harper. "Good." He eased away carefully. "Shower? Massage? Chocolate?"

He was rewarded by a sweet, if somewhat confused smile. "Sleep?"

He smiled back. "Sleep it is. But don’t plan on all night, I still have more mapping to do."

Harper mock-growled. "Promises, promises."

"Uh-uh. Threats." He stretched out, gathered Harper up, and tugged the blankets over them both. "You’re going to have to decide what to do about Beka yourself."

"Thanks." Ironic tone, but Harper burrowed in. "Pinch me."

Dylan obliged, pinching Harper’s ass ungently.

Harper yelped. "I didn’t mean it." Reproachfully. "It’s what you call, ah, one of those rhetorical statements."

"Sorry." Dylan put his palm over the offended spot. "You’ll have to warn me when you’re not being literal."

"I’m never literal." Harper settled in against him. "Nap."

Dylan sighed and tightened his arm around Harper. "Nap," he agreed and fumbled with his other hand to turn the lights down. 

"We’ve got plenty of time," Harper said drowsily.

Closing his eyes, Dylan smiled.

  


* * *

"All right, Harper, I’ve tried to mind my own business, I really have, but if you don’t start talking, I swear, I’m going to shake you until your teeth rattle." 

Harper looked up from the circuit he was repairing, pushed his goggles up. "What? What?" Innocently baffled. "I didn’t do it, whatever it was."

Beka stalked toward him, hands on her hips. "Liar." Her eyebrows slanted downward. "I want dirt, Harper, I want details, and I want descriptions."

He blinked at her, still maintaining his innocent expression. "What?" Took a step back as she got closer to him. "Beka, I didn’t _do_ anything."

Her eyes narrowed. "Except maybe for Dylan. Or maybe he does you. Which is it, Seamus, and don’t make me hurt you." One hand shot out, unnervingly fast, and gripped the front of his shirt. 

He yelped for real, tried to scramble away, but given the difference in their height, the weight differential wasn’t all that great and she had the advantage of leverage.

"You see this?" She held her other hand up, formed a fist. "You’re going to be getting a taste of this if you don’t start talking."

"Jeez, Beka," he began, a little nervous suddenly. Weeks of driving Beka nuts by pretending he had no idea what the hell she was asking had finally backfired.

"Talk." She glowered at him.

"About what?" asked Dylan.

Harper looked over his shoulder, found Dylan leaning against the wall almost lazily. His stomach did a lazy roll, but not from alarm. Dylan wore a lazy, wicked smile, too, and that turned him on so much his hair was probably standing on end, never mind they were both still on shift, and Dylan was still in uniform.

He swallowed hard, took a breath as Beka let go of him. When he looked back at her, her face was scarlet. "Uh, nothing," she said and smoothed the wrinkles out of Harper’s shirt. "Nothing important, Dylan."

"No?" Dylan arched an eyebrow. "I could have sworn you were going to punch him."

"Ah, I was just kidding around." Beka gave Harper an edgy look. "You know, the way we do."

"That’s good," Dylan said mildly. "Punching out other crew members is definitely forbidden, High Guard or not."

Beka laughed nervously. "I wasn’t _really_ going to punch him, Harper knows that. Right, Harper?"

Some imp of mischief took hold of him. "I dunno, Beka, you looked pretty serious."

That got him a desperate look. "Harper! You know I’ve never really hit you."

"Well, no, but there’s always a first time." He couldn’t help it, he snickered.

Beka’s expression suggested she couldn’t decide whether or not she felt relief or homicidal impulse.

"That’s good, then." Dylan straightened, arched an eyebrow at him. "Mr. Harper, you’re off-shift. Now."

Harper stared, looked at the chron on his worktable. Well, technically, he was, but whoa.

Beka’s mouth opened, then shut with an almost audible snap. 

Dylan smiled kindly. "Beka, just for the record, the answer to your first question is yes."

She blinked, went scarlet again. "Question?" 

Dylan only smiled, turned and left the machine shop. Harper blinked, astonished, then remembered he was alone with Beka. "Okay, well, he’s the boss, I’ll catch you later, Beka." Hastily, and he took off his goggles, narrowly evading the hand that came out to grab his shirt again. "Remember, you’re not supposed to punch me."

"I _knew_ it," Beka said, sounding annoyed and triumphant at the same time. "And dammit, I was right, and I’ll bet you aren’t going to give me even a single detail."

Harper grinned maniacally at her and scrambled for the door.

He caught up with Dylan halfway to Dylan’s quarters. "Are you sure that was a good idea?"

Dylan looked amused. "I like your nose the way it is."

"She wouldn’t _really_ have punched me." Harper considered it. "I don’t think."

"Well, now there’s no need to find out." Dylan smiled, the smile that turned Harper’s bones to water. "And remember, there are only six people on board, including Rommie. Secrets are impossible to keep unless there’s a very good reason to keep them."

Harper nodded, frowned. "Think Tyr will be a problem when _he_ figures it out?"

Dylan frowned. "I hope not. If he gives you any grief, though, I want to know about it. Immediately."

"In your official capacity?" Harper narrowed his eyes. "Because I can take care of myself."

"Yes," Dylan agreed.

"Yes to which?"

"Both." Faint smile.

Yeah, he was gone, totally lost, completely addicted. Who the hell knew Dylan could be playful? "Are _you_ off-shift?"

"No, I’m breaking my own rules and hoping to lure you into my quarters for a quickie. Yes, I’m off-shift."

Harper grinned. "Good. Cuz with all that mapping going on, I still haven’t gotten a chance to start on you."

Dylan’s grin melted what bones still remained intact. Yeah, addicted. Dylan and Sparky. 

And he knew which one he preferred.

***THE END***


End file.
